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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201173">(remember when) the darkness wasn't all you had to see</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora'>Laora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bring Down the Sky [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gundam 00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, I love this family okay, Time Travel Fix-It</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:56:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lockon Stratos dies.</p><p>Then, Neil Dylandy wakes up in his fourteen-year-old body, in his childhood bedroom, days before his world fell apart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bring Down the Sky [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hoooooooo boy welcome to my biggest AU maybe ever</p><p>i've got lots of ideas for this one, but like, not...a whole Big Plot? so i made the decision to post stuff as discrete oneshots within the universe, and this is the first one!! the series is gonna get big (and will probably have some nested series to cover AUs OTL) but i am <i>super hype</i> to share this with you all!!!</p><p>i wrote this particular fic back in at least...2018 (when i still had hopes of making this into a big chapter fic, lol) so the writing is a little different than my current style, but I like it nonetheless! i hope you guys do too :)</p><p>chapter 2 should be up sometime this week! (and it's like 3x as long as this one wtf sldkfjsodfj)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lockon is alone in the vast emptiness of space, staring down at the planet he has come to hate, and he knows that he is dying.</p><p>He can feel his body chugging along, doing its best to keep him alive and conscious despite the overwhelming pain in his head and his abdomen. He knows that despite the protective flight suit, there’s some internal damage that could probably be healed, should he get himself to a regeneration pod in time—</p><p>But he is alone. Dynames and Haro are long gone to safety, and Ali al-Saachez (at last) is dead, and the thrusters on his suit are all but destroyed. He is powerless to fly away from the ticking time bomb of the GN Arms scarce meters from him.</p><p>Exia’s trail of GN particles is blinding and bright and growing closer, but Lockon knows Setsuna will never get here in time. He only hopes his friend isn’t damaged in the blast when the Arms explode beside him.</p><p>His vision is blurry and growing worse, and he knows it’s caused by something beyond his missing right eye. His hands shake, and his body feels like a puppet on broken strings, suspended in the emptiness of space, waiting for death and not able—or even willing—to do anything about it.</p><p>Ali al-Saachez is dead. His friends are safe. What else is there left for him to live for? After all, if he’s very lucky, soon he’ll be able to see—</p><hr/><p>Lockon Stratos was dead, but then he wakes up—and he’s not sure he’s ever been so confused in all his life.</p><p>He clearly remembers dying—remembers each iota of agony tearing through his body even before the explosion that must have consumed him in those last moments—but now, he is not in pain at all. He feels—he feels <em>energetic, </em>like he’s gotten plenty of sleep lately when he hasn’t slept more than a few hours a night, from the pain of his injuries and taking the night watch to ensure they’re not ambushed and worrying about his friends and their safety as the world powers steadily tightened the noose—</p><p>He should be exhausted, strung out, barely able to move from the agony of his wounds. But he feels perfectly fine—and he realizes, too, that he is lying in a bed more comfortable than his cot in the Ptolemy, and he’s staring at an only vaguely familiar ceiling, and—</p><p>What the <em>fuck </em>is going on?</p><p>There are footsteps pounding down the hall outside, and he swings upright out of habit, his hand reaching for the bedside table—ready to pull a gun on whoever has invaded the Ptolemy—or, well, wherever the hell he is now. But there is no gun there—not even in the drawer, as he yanks it open to check—and he feels hugely vulnerable as the footsteps stop right outside his door.</p><p>He pulls himself to his feet (…why is the ground so much closer than it should be?) and pulls up his fists, because even if he’s not the best at hand-to-hand on this ship—not by a long shot—he’s not bad, either, and even if for whatever reason his guns are gone, he’s not going down without a fight.</p><p>But as the door swings open and the figure bounds into his room, Lockon realizes several things at once—that he <em>recognizes </em>this room, because it was his own for fourteen years of his life; that he can see out of both of his eyes; and that—</p><p><em>His little sister is standing in the doorway, </em>her smile dimming a bit as she looks up at his face, as she watches his fists fall to his sides and his eyes (<em>eyes</em>) widen in horror. “Neil?” she asks, the cheer stifled a bit by worry. “You okay? Mum says if you’re not downstairs soon, you won’t get any pancakes—but if you’re not feeling well…”</p><p>She hesitates, and Neil finds that he can’t take his gaze off her face, because she is—she looks just the same as she does in his memories, in the last months of her life, with her hair growing out and tied up, right now, to keep it out of her face. She’s wearing her favorite t-shirt—and—</p><p><em>Amy is here, </em>and he can’t find it in him to respond to what she said, because—because—</p><p>Is this the afterlife? He has always hoped—not prayed, he hasn’t prayed since long before the bomb—that they would be reunited in death, but he’s known he’s been fooling himself. He’s a terrorist. He’s a mass murderer. His parents and sister went to heaven, or whatever equivalent exists...and he’s known for a long time that he’d be going somewhere else.</p><p>But he’s dead, now—he was vaporized in an explosion in the middle of space—and he is standing in his old bedroom in his parents’ house and <em>his little sister is here </em>and despite all his greatest dreams he <em>can’t process this</em>—</p><p>The nausea comes on quickly, and he doesn’t make it to the trash can in time before he’s vomiting all over the rug, his entire body trembling because<em>—</em></p><p>“Neil!” Amy’s voice has risen in worry and terror, and he can see her hesitate through blurring eyes before she backs out of the room—“I’m gonna get Dad, I’ll be right back, okay?”</p><p><em>She’s getting Dad—Dad is here, too—</em>and Lockon finds himself heaving again, collapsing against the bedframe, his stomach up-ending an unfamiliar dinner from the night before. He must be—he must be dead, must be in some sort of afterlife (and he wishes, briefly, that he could see Setsuna’s reaction to this—<em>there is no God in this world </em>be damned, even if he’s got a hell of a lot of explaining to do) because his sister is here just as she was when she died, and she is fetching their father, and <em>Mum is making pancakes downstairs,</em> he can smell them even so far away, and—and—</p><p>
  <em>What did he do to deserve this?</em>
</p><p>His father comes hurrying into the room, then, and Lockon finds his eyes widening of their own accord as he takes him in—he looks the same as Neil has always remembered, in his old photographs and his blurring memories—dark hair trimmed short and dark blue eyes now creased in worry as he hurries toward Neil, pulling him gently to sit on the bed, out of the pile of vomit, and hands him the trash can as a precaution as he feels his forehead with the back of his hand.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Neil? How long have you been feeling ill? Should we call the doctor?”</p><p>Lockon wants to laugh, because not half an hour ago he’s sure every one of his friends would have killed—or, rather, done something equally difficult and traumatizing for his particular subset of the population—to get him into a regeneration cell. But he—no, he doesn’t need a doctor. He needs someone to explain <em>what the hell is going on,</em> but he can’t really articulate that right now—partly because he’s not sure his father will have answers for him, and partly because if he opens his mouth, he’s almost positive he’ll either vomit again, or start crying.</p><p>Nevertheless, tears begin falling down his cheeks, and Amy’s face falls in concern as their father frowns a bit, sitting beside Lockon on the bed and putting an arm around his shoulders.</p><p>“Amy, could you go downstairs and get me some rags from the laundry room, please? Dampen them, we should get this out of the carpet as soon as we can.”</p><p>His sister’s worry does not decrease in the slightest, but she leaves the room quickly, with a last glance over her shoulder to Lockon. His father tightens his grip on his shoulders, then, pulling him closer into the sideways hug, and reaches up to ruffle his hair gently.</p><p>“Hey, it’ll be all right—Mum’ll get some saltines in you, you can lay down the rest of the day—I’m sure this’ll be gone by tomorrow! Do you know what might have caused it? Were you feeling badly yesterday? Do you think it was something you ate?”</p><p>Lockon shrugs, still rather dizzy from the situation he’s found himself in—still confused and horrified and wishing desperately for some sort of explanation. He swallows hesitantly, worried he’ll throw up again—but when he doesn’t, he decides to brave a question—the one he’s most desperate to get answered: “Is this—heaven?”</p><p>His father stiffens at that, turning to face Lockon head on, concern clear on his face. “This is your bedroom,” he says, slow, like he isn’t sure what Lockon’s asking. “At home, the same room you’ve had your whole life, right?”</p><p>It’s the bedroom he had for the first fourteen years of his life. The one he abandoned when he and Lyle moved in with their aunt, after—after—</p><p>This is his old bedroom and he’s talking with his dead father, and his dead sister is downstairs with his dead <em>mother, </em>and Lockon’s dead too except he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he’s working very hard at breathing deeply so he doesn’t spiral into hyperventilation, and—</p><p>And his dad’s feeling his forehead again in a way Lockon hasn’t felt in nearly ten years, and he leans into the touch without thinking, because he hasn’t seen his father in <em>so long </em>and he’s always forgotten, how he was more the mother hen of the family than their actual mother—how he was always the one to take care of them when they were sick, how…</p><p>“Would you like to lie down?” his dad asks him, and Lockon blinks at him before nodding carefully, setting the trash can down by the head of the bed and leaning gently until he’s lying on his side, curling up a bit. He’s—it’s strange, because he’s been too long for standard beds for years—but now he fits neatly into this one. Even if he stretches out to his full height, he thinks, his feet will not hang off the edge. But he didn’t have an extra-long as a teenager; he’s never owned an extra-long mattress at all, in fact. On the Ptolemy, he’s long grown used to his ankles hanging off the end of the bed whenever he slept in his typical sprawl. He frowns down at his feet again, at the startling distance between them and the edge of the bed, but doesn’t let himself worry about it for now.</p><p>Even if this is some hallucination—even if this is whatever heaven he’s been deemed worthy enough to enter, he shouldn’t worry about such inconsequential things now. His father is here, with a gentle grip on his shoulder as he continues talking; Amy and Mum are downstairs, likely fretting about the state he’s found himself in, putting together a glass of water and some saltines to go with the damp cloths for the rug.</p><p>He has never deserved such luxury, but his family is here—and that is more than enough for Lockon, right now.</p><p>He finds himself dozing despite himself; the bed is comfortable, and the pillow is wonderfully cool—and his father’s hand is warm and steady upon his back as he rubs it gently, a calming gesture that Lockon forgot has always easily sent him to sleep. But then two figures appear in the doorway, one much taller than the other when he opens his eyes at the noise—and his sister and mother are there, both faces creased in concern as Amy hurries to lay the rags down on the ground and their mother comes to sit beside him on the bed, her hand reaching to mirror her husband’s on his head as she sets the small tray she’s carrying down on the bedside table.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, glancing toward the trash can. But the nausea’s fading already; he thinks it was just the shock of waking up somewhere so unfamiliar, without the wounds that should have killed him, surrounded by the family he hasn’t seen in more than a decade.</p><p>“Better,” he says, nearly forgetting to respond for their constant presence at his side. “I—dunno what happened…”</p><p>“It’s all right,” his father says immediately, the pressure on his back growing momentarily. “but if you need anything, just let us know, all right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Lockon says rather distantly, because Amy is sitting in his desk chair, now, her feet swinging as she stares at him in concern; his mother’s touch has nearly sent him dozing again as she plays with his hair (she ever bothered him to get haircuts, when he was younger—said when he let it grow longer, it looked too scraggly), running gentle fingers through it as she works out the tangles.</p><p>His sister is here, and his parents are here—he is dead, but that’s all right with him, so long as he gets to stay with them for as long as he can.</p><hr/><p>He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knows, his room is empty but for the tray of easily digestible food on his bedside table. The rags are gone from the ground, and the room smells heavily of air freshener.</p><p>But he is still in the bedroom of his childhood, and as he sits up slowly, wiping sleep from his eyes, his mind starts to catch up with the situation around him.</p><p>He hauls himself to his feet, ready to dive for the trash can should the nausea make a return appearance, but he feels perfectly fine—if a little off-kilter, because he’s still closer to the ground than he’s used to. But there are bigger things to worry about, now—he needs to—he needs to go downstairs, try and figure out what’s happening.</p><p>His instincts are telling him that something’s still very wrong, here, and his instincts haven’t failed him yet.</p><p>He makes his way out into the hallway and goes toward the staircase, but is hailed from behind him by yet another voice he hasn’t heard in years—it’s his brother, and Lockon’s face drains as he realizes that if Lyle is here, then he must be dead, too. They haven’t spoken in years, but he’d like to think that if Lyle died, he’d know—whether through some twin intuition, or from reading the news somewhere—he tried to keep tabs on him, after all, and—</p><p>He swallows before turning to Lyle, but—</p><p>But his brother doesn’t look anything like what he’s expecting. He looks—fourteen again, years younger than he should, and Lockon <em>knows </em>that his brother didn’t die at that age, because he got him on the phone just before he left for Celestial Being at nineteen to tell him he was going off the grid—</p><p>Lyle is here but he’s young again, so much younger, younger than he ever should be in the afterlife, and Lockon knows he’s staring but he can’t help it when—when—</p><p>
  <em>What the fuck is going on?</em>
</p><p>“No need to look at me like that, I haven’t been <em>that </em>scarce,” Lyle mumbles, crossing his arms. “Mum said you were sick earlier, just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”</p><p>“Better,” he says, and wants to pull his brother into a massive hug—because he has <em>missed </em>Lyle over the years, damnit, even if his brother never wanted anything to do with him. “Dunno what was up, but I don’t feel sick anymore.”</p><p>“That’s good,” Lyle says, and looks genuinely relieved at that—maybe, and Lockon has to stifle a snort, because it means he won’t have to clean up after him later. “Well, it’s past lunch, but Mum saved you some food if you’re feeling up for it—she and Amy went grocery shopping, but Dad’s watching telly downstairs.”</p><p>“All right,” Lockon says, but he’s suddenly distracted—because he’s realizing that Lyle is fourteen, just the way they looked when their family was killed. He’s looking at his brother eye to eye, and they’ve ever been mirror images—so if Lyle is fourteen, then <em>he </em>must be fourteen, too, and he feels his face draining suddenly as he stares at his brother.</p><p>If he’s—if he’s fourteen, if he’s eleven years younger than he should be, then—how could this be the afterlife? It—it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t—</p><p>If this isn’t the afterlife, then that explains Lyle’s presence here—but if this isn’t the afterlife, then <em>what is it?</em></p><p>“Uh, Neil?” Lyle asks, his face screwing up in vague concern as he takes a step back. “You’re not gonna puke again, are you?”</p><p>Lockon can’t answer him in any certainty, but he clamps his jaw shut, willing himself not to be sick in the carpeted hallway. He needs to figure this out. If Miss Sumeragi were in this position, what would she do?</p><p>(Well, he thinks, after she grabbed herself a bottle of whiskey?)</p><p>She’d sit down and think through the facts—she’d figure out where she is (and, Lockon realizes with a sinking heart, <em>when </em>she is) and figure out where she stands in the world, now. She’d talk with the people around her—</p><p>But he and Lyle have never gotten along, and he still feels like he’ll be sick every time he thinks about the fact that the rest of his family is here—and how could he possibly explain it to them, especially when he is still reeling from what should have been his death mere hours ago?</p><p>“Neil?” Lyle asks again, a little louder, hesitating before skirting him to head for the stairs. “I’ll get Dad, just a sec—“</p><p>“No, sorry, I’m—fine,” Neil says, though as he finishes the sentence he’s half-sure he’s going to lean over and puke right this second. “Just, um, felt light-headed for a minute.”</p><p>Lyle’s eyebrows shoot up in skepticism, but stops at the top of the stairs. “If you puke, I’m not cleaning it up.”</p><p>Neil finds himself smiling a bit at his brother, because he’s the same—<em>just </em>the same—as he always has been…unwilling to put up with Neil or any of his shit. “It’ll be fine.”</p><p>Lyle stares at him a moment longer, as if trying to figure something out, before rolling his eyes and heading down the stairs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Dylandys know there's something wrong with Neil.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As a heads up, my headcanon for how the bombing went down in canon are detailed more in my old oneshot <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984598">"heaven turns away as the sky comes crashing down."</a> The gist of it is that the bomb was detonated in a shopping mall on Amy's birthday - everyone but Lyle (who ditched) had gone with her to go shopping with her birthday money. </p><p>Another scene I wrote several years ago, so sorry for any weirdness in the writing ;0;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’ve all tried to write it off for nearly a week.</p><p>Lyndsay is growing more and more concerned, though, for her elder son—he’s assured all four of them, several times, that he is fine, that there’s nothing wrong, but she’s absolutely sure that she doesn’t believe him. The worst thing he’s complained of since he woke up sick is progressively worse headaches and fatigue and vague nausea, the former of which Owen has said should go away with Ibuprofen. He can’t make a more educated suggestion, though, when Neil turns away guiltily if asked what might be causing it.</p><p>He hasn’t complained of anything but headaches, but there’s no doubt he’s acting strangely. It almost seems like he’s a different person—at first, she chalked it up to him trying to be a bit more mature (even though he’s only <em>fourteen,</em> and his actions and phrasing, sometimes, remind her of someone much older), but she isn’t so sure, especially because the changes are so <em>sudden.</em> Neil has always been a good kid—well-behaved, for the most part, with a good heart—but now, when he thinks no one is looking, she sees bitterness and anger and <em>grief</em> on his face, drowning him. When he realizes that she’s there, it disappears so quickly that Lyndsay is horrified—and it’s replaced with a bright smile that doesn’t quite fit his face, that doesn’t fool his mother for a second.</p><p>She’s tried to chalk it up to teenaged hormones, or stress from starting high school, or any number of other things—but Lyle, ever the more moody of her boys, is acting nowhere near as strangely as his brother. Even <em>he</em> has asked Neil a few times if he’s all right—and brought it up with Lyndsay and Owen, when Neil lied and said he was fine. <em>Lyle</em> can tell something is off—is worried enough about it not to just ignore it like he usually would—and this may be what worries Lyndsay the most.</p><p>It’s Amy’s birthday, that next Saturday; Lyle is already downstairs, dressed and grudgingly agreeing to be dragged along wherever Amy wants to go. Her face lights up as Lyle tells her he’s cancelled his plans with his friends for the day, and Lyndsay smiles, pulling her son into a warm hug that he squirms his way out of as soon as he can.</p><p>Lyle is downstairs but Neil is not, and Lyndsay frowns a bit as she glances at the oven clock—it’s almost eleven, far past when he usually wakes up. A question to Lyle of whether he’s seen his brother elicits only a shrug as he glances up from his phone.</p><p>Lyndsay’s frown deepens, and she’s just decided to go upstairs to check on him, make sure he’s not sick again, when Neil appears at the foot of the stairs, clearly in a hurry as he steps immediately for the front door.</p><p>“I’ll be right back, need to pick something up in town—“</p><p>He’s walking quickly, fluidly, his face turned away from them, and he only slows when Amy makes an outraged noise. “Neil!”</p><p>He turns halfway, then, and Lyndsay can see the paleness of his face, the tightness around his eyes. “I’ll be back in half an hour,” he promises, not giving them time to process this, before reaching for the front door.</p><p>“Neil Dylandy, who said you could go into town on your own?” Lyndsay demands, not sharply, but stern enough. Lyle looks up from his phone, his brows creased as he looks at his brother.</p><p>Neil seems to stop, at that, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ve gotta get my favorite sister a birthday present, right? Just gonna run to the store real quick—don’t go anywhere without me, yeah?”</p><p>Lyle’s brows are rising quickly on his forehead as he glances back toward Lyndsay, clearly waiting to see what she’ll say about this. “Why don’t I drive you?” she asks eventually. Why does Neil seem desperate to do this on his own? “It’ll be faster, and Amy wants to go to the mall this afternoon…”</p><p>She trails off, though, at the way the color drains so quickly from Neil’s face at the mention of the mall. Her brows furrow, and she takes a few quick steps forward, wondering what’s wrong—but he shakes his head suddenly, sharply, and turns again toward the door.</p><p>“Don’t—don’t leave without me, all right? I said I’ll be back in half an hour!”</p><p>Before Lyndsay can say anything else, Neil has flung open the door and shut it behind him—and within moments, Lyndsay can see him out the front window, pedaling madly down the street on his bike. Lyle grimaces at the door for a moment before turning back to Lyndsay. “So how long’s he gonna be grounded for?”</p><p>“Your father and I will talk with him once he’s back,” Lyndsay says, something like worry settling deeper in her stomach. The Neil she just finished speaking to was not the Neil she’s brought up for the past fourteen years.</p><p>Lyle rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds like <em>lucky</em> before throwing his phone into his pocket, standing up and turning to Amy. “Well, <em>I’ve </em>got your present already bought, unlike someone else—do you want to open it early?”</p><p>Amy’s face lights up, and she momentarily forgets Neil's strange antics; she follows Lyle upstairs to his bedroom eagerly. This leaves Lyndsay standing alone in the kitchen, and she sits heavily in a chair, running a hand through her hair as she attempts to decipher Neil’s strange actions.</p><p>And—and beyond those, she realizes, the way he dressed today was strange, too. It’s mid-September; it’s not so warm as summer was, but it’s nowhere near chilly enough for a hoodie. But that’s exactly what Neil was wearing: one of his biggest sweatshirts with the roomiest hoods. And in his hands he had a pair of large sunglasses, even though it’s overcast today.</p><p>This, combined with his terse explanations that weren’t really explanations at all—the near-fear on his face as he only repeated that he needed to go into town—Lyndsay is worried, and she knows that this has gone on long enough.</p><p>She will talk to Neil tonight, with Owen, and get to the bottom of this, because she’s almost certain that Neil isn’t well.</p><p>Her husband arrives home from work before Neil does; he traded with one of his coworkers for the afternoon so he could spend most of the day with the family. He comes in, a bit harried but cheerful enough, nearly twenty minutes after Neil left; Lyle and Amy haven’t come downstairs yet (she remembers Lyle telling her that he bought Amy the new handheld video game she wanted, so she thinks it’s likely they’re giving it a test run), and Lyndsay hasn’t moved from her slouch over the kitchen table.</p><p>“Where’s Neil?” Owen asks curiously, throwing his keys on one of the hooks in the hall before stepping toward her, leaning down for a kiss. “His bike’s not on the porch…”</p><p>“He said he needed to go to town to pick up something for Amy,” Lyndsay says, though her tone makes it clear she doesn’t believe it for a moment. “Walked out before I could say no.”</p><p>Owen frowns, hesitating, and she knows this is so far beyond anything they’ve dealt with before. But they can’t discuss it further; Owen turns at Amy’s astonished cry as she comes down the stairs, smiling broadly at her and stepping to scoop her up into a hug. “You’re not at work?” she demands, beaming even more widely up at her father. “You said you wouldn’t be home ‘til tonight!”</p><p>“Well, I’ve gotta make an exception for my favorite daughter’s eleventh birthday, don’t I?” Owen says, ruffling her hair and making her squeak as his grin broadens. “We can go anywhere you want as soon as Neil gets back!”</p><p>“He’s still not here?” Lyle asks, his eyebrows rising as he scans the kitchen. “What—“</p><p>But the front door lock turns, then, and Neil walks through with a flushed face and a sheepish grin. Though the worry around his eyes is still clear as day, he’s more relaxed than he was not half an hour ago—and he does indeed carry a large, brightly-colored bag in one hand as he shuts the door behind him. “I come bearing gifts!” he announces, and Amy huffs at him—but the smile on her face gives her away as she runs up to give him a hug as well.</p><p>“You’ll have to compete with mine,” Lyle says, teasing all over his tone. “She already gave it a test run, said it’s the best present ever—<em>and,</em> because you held up her trip to the mall, I feel like I’ve got the advantage, here.”</p><p>Neil’s face drains again, curiously, when his brother mentions the mall—but he grins back just as quickly. “I guess we’ll have to see,” he says magnanimously, handing the bag to his sister. “If you got to open Lyle’s early, then you get to open mine, too!”</p><p>Amy beams at him before tearing the tissue paper out of the top of the bag—and her face lights up in excitement as she pulls out something large and brown and fluffy, wearing a bright purple bow around its neck—she stares at it with wide eyes before crushing it to her chest in a hug.</p><p>“What the hell is that?” Lyle asks incredulously, looking up at his brother even as Amy only hugs the bear tighter.</p><p>“Only the best stuffed bear in town,” Neil says with a grin before Lyndsay can reprimand Lyle for his language, though there’s something strange behind Neil’s eyes as he looks at his sister. “Amy, there’s some other stuff, too—maybe not so exciting as the bear, but - ”</p><p>“<em>I love her!</em>” Amy crows, her eyes shining in joy as she spins, holding the bear out to show her parents, and Lyndsay feels a warm smile growing there despite herself. They all know that Amy has tried to wean herself off her stuffed animals in recent months, but they also know that it’s been a lost cause—she has a special place in her heart for every one of them.</p><p>Lyndsay has to hand it to Neil—he really did an excellent job of picking out this bear for her. “She’s lovely, Amy.”</p><p>Amy’s smile, impossibly, grows even wider, before she hands off the bear gently to Lyle before digging through the bottom of the bag—and her eyes widen further as she pulls out a couple of bars of chocolate.</p><p>“Those are the ones you like, right?” Neil asks, a bit of trepidation seeping into his voice. “I couldn’t remember for sure, but—“</p><p>“Yeah!” Amy says, straightening up and looking with wide eyes at the chocolate in her hand. They’re pretty big, and Lyndsay winces as she realizes they’re going to have to make sure she doesn’t eat too much before bed—but she’s already pulling the wrapper off one of them, biting in with gusto as Neil looks on with a smile.</p><p>“Best birthday <em>ever</em>!” she announces, stepping to drop the chocolate on the dining room table behind her before pulling both Neil and Lyle into a hug. Lyle lets out a quiet <em>oof</em> as he’s hauled forward, as the bear is smashed between him and Neil, but he doesn’t look chagrined as Lyndsay expected—and Neil returns the hug readily, throwing an arm around each of his siblings and leaning his cheek on Amy’s head.</p><p>“And now that you're back, we can go to the mall!” Amy announces after a moment, disentangling herself from the hug—retrieving the bear from Lyle’s grasp and setting her carefully down on her own chair at the table. Turned away as she is, she is the last to notice Neil’s smile freeze on his face, the last to notice the color draining from his cheeks.</p><p>“You’re—you’re sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?” he asks after a moment, and Amy turns, her face scrunching in consternation. “We could go to the theme park, or—or—“</p><p>“I want to go to the mall!” she says stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring up at Neil. “We went to the laser park for <em>your</em> birthday, even though I didn’t want to—it’s my birthday, so I get to choose where we go!”</p><p>“We could go tomorrow?” Neil suggests, and Lyndsay frowns as she sees his hands trembling, sees the way he swallows thickly—and she comes to the startling realization that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Neil as scared as he looks now. He’s making a valiant effort to keep his voice level, to sound flippant enough to make it seem like he just doesn’t want to go to the mall—but…</p><p>Lyndsay has lived with her sons for nearly a decade and a half—likes to think she knows them inside and out—and she can tell that, for some reason, Neil is convinced that <em>they</em> <em>cannot go </em>to the mall today.</p><p>But why? Sure, he’s a teenaged boy, and teenaged boys don’t like to go shopping for clothes—but even Lyle had acquiesced to the trip with only a small amount of grumping, flopping himself onto the couch for show though he agreed that it was Amy’s birthday and they could do whatever she wants. And Neil—he's always been the one to put up with his sister’s antics, her hare-brained ideas—and the one to help her see them through to the end, no matter their disastrous outcomes. So why is he so dead-set on not going where she wants today?</p><p>“No, <em>today’s</em> my birthday,” Amy says, though she’s frowning at Neil, too, clearly wondering what’s wrong. Lyle, too, visibly clamps down on whatever flippant, half-nasty comment he wants to make—because it’s clear to all four of them that there is something seriously wrong with Neil.</p><p>Neil blinks a few times in quick succession, swallows thickly again—and Lyndsay realizes with a jolt of horror that he is trying not to cry. No matter that he isn’t making sense—no matter that it’s Amy’s birthday, and family rules dictate that she decides where to go. This isn’t an act—and she can’t stand to see her son so terrified.</p><p>“Amy,” she says, standing up and walking over, putting a hand on Neil’s shoulder, “the mall will probably be really crowded today, because it’s a Saturday—everyone will be trying to get their shopping done. I bet if we went tomorrow, there would be less people, and you’d be able to buy more things.”</p><p>Neil had looked up at her quickly as soon as she stood, and now there is desperate relief on his face as he stares up at her—she’s only a few inches taller than him, anymore, but in this moment his face looks so young—looks just like the little boy whose cuts and bruises she used to kiss better. He hasn’t cried in years—he hasn’t cried in so long that Lyndsay nearly didn’t recognize the telling signs in his movements. But the mere thought of his family going to the mall today was enough to break that for him—and Lyndsay adds this to the list of things to talk about with him tonight.</p><p>She’s already decided she won’t take <em>I’m fine</em> as an answer, anymore.</p><p>“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go?” she asks Amy, filing away her worry in favor of the current situation—a worried husband, a disbelieving Lyle, and an indignant Amy glaring up at her, upset that her mother has taken Neil’s side.</p><p>“I guess the theme park would be okay,” she hedges, glaring a bit at Neil, “but we’re going to the mall tomorrow!”</p><p>“That’s fine,” Neil says instantly, and Lyndsay can feel a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders as he steps forward, ruffling her hair a bit. “I’m…”</p><p>He trails off, clearly unsure of what to say to justify his near-outburst. Eventually he only turns, not quite meeting any of their eyes—pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing his sunglasses on the table before heading for the garage as Owen grabs his keys.</p><p>Neil gives Lyle an odd look as he piles into the car behind him—“Don’t look at me like that, it’s Amy’s birthday!” Lyle says defensively—but says nothing else as they buckle in and head toward the highway. Neil doesn’t say much during the hour-long drive, staring pensively out the window as Amy and Lyle keep up a conversation. The terror on his face has lessened, but Lyndsay can still see its remnants there clear as day, and his hands are still trembling as he twists them in his lap.</p><p>She cannot ask him now. She doesn’t want to put a damper on Amy’s birthday, and she’s sure that Neil doesn’t either—but she’s very worried for him, in his unnatural stillness as he sits in the car in silence—in the grief and fear yet lurking just below the surface.</p><p>He grabs Amy’s hand as soon as they arrive at the theme park and refuses to let go for the rest of the afternoon, and though he seems to be having just as much fun as anyone else, the tension in his shoulders has not yet loosened, and Lyndsay is left wondering what has happened to her son.</p><hr/><p>They drive home several hours later, thoroughly worn out but content. Even Amy had admitted that it was a good birthday trip (“We’re still going shopping tomorrow, though!”), and as the hours passed, Lyndsay could see something relaxing behind Neil’s eyes. He had started out the day at the park scarily alert, nearly paranoid, looking at everyone around him—taking in everything at once as if it were a threat. But as the afternoon started to wane into the evening, he slowly relaxed (though he never let go of Amy’s hand), allowing himself to smile broadly—truly—at the ridiculousness of the park around them.</p><p>It’s nearing eight, now, and even if it’s a weekend, Amy shouldn’t stay up too late. But they have dinner and cake and the rest of her presents to go through first, and Amy is more than excited, nearly bouncing off the walls with energy (and Lyndsay wishes Neil hadn’t bought her that last stick of cotton candy) as she rushes into the kitchen straight from the garage, demanding Lyndsay pull the cake out so they can eat it <em>right this second.</em></p><p>Neil laughs along with her but instead makes a beeline for the living room—and Lyndsay follows, curious, wondering whether he has hidden another birthday present for her in the house. Lyle and Owen are busy pulling out the meal they made the night before, putting it in the oven to heat, so Lyndsay is alone with Neil for a few precious minutes. He glances around and seems surprised to see her behind him—he startles badly, actually, and Lyndsay takes a quick step back, an apology on the tip of her tongue for startling him. But he only mumbles a “sorry” to her instead, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV.</p><p>Lyndsay frowns, wondering what he could possibly want to see that couldn’t wait for a rerun (and on his sister’s <em>birthday,</em> no less)—but then he immediately punches in the news channel. It’s on commercial now, and Neil sighs, clearly frustrated as he tries three others in quick succession—but though a couple of those are showing international news, it clearly isn’t what he’s looking for. He flips between the four for a few seconds longer before he sucks in a breath, stopping on the first channel he tried, as <em>BREAKING NEWS UPDATE </em>flashes across the screen.</p><p>“We have more information on the attempted bombing from this afternoon,” the newscaster says, and Neil stands stock still, his eyes wide. Lyndsay falls backward onto the couch, a pit of horror forming in her stomach as she stares at the screen. This is the local news channel; they wouldn’t be talking about an international bombing, or something that happened in the ongoing Solar Energy Wars—</p><p>“The suspect is confirmed to be in custody,” the woman continues. “Local AEU officials have declined to identify them, but sources say that this may have been an attempted terrorist attack by a guerrilla group from Krugis, known only as the KPSA.”</p><p>Lyndsay finds herself leaning forward, desperate to catch every word—Neil has the volume turned down low so as not to attract the rest of the family (and honestly, with the way he’s looking at her sideways, he clearly wishes she weren’t here, either). Though she does not recognize the acronym, she knows of the unrest occurring in the Middle East due to the switch to solar energy. But for a group to travel so far—to <em>Ireland—</em>to attempt an attack…</p><p>The image has shifted from the newsroom to an on-site reporter, who is bundled against the wind and the evening chill. It is dark, but Lyndsay thinks she sees something familiar about the area where he’s standing… ”AEU officials successfully apprehended the suspect earlier this afternoon,” he says, speaking a little loudly to be heard over the wind, and Neil winces, glances toward the door to the kitchen, and turns the volume down a bit more. “They believe that the suspect was planning to detonate a suicide bomb. The police received an anonymous tip-off that the largest mall in Waterford would be the target of terrorist activity, and the military was able to mobilize in time to clear the area of civilians and apprehend the suspect before they detonated the bomb. Officials estimated that there were close to a thousand people within the blast radius, and that hundreds would have died should they not have received that information…”</p><p>Lyndsay feels her face growing pale—feels lightheaded and horrified and <em>disbelieving, </em>because she now knows why she recognizes the area—it’s the mall, barely five minutes down the street, the exact place where Amy wanted to go this afternoon—</p><p>The exact place Neil seemed so desperate to keep them all away from.</p><p>She turns toward him, so many questions running through her mind that she has no way of vocalizing any of them—but Neil’s face has fallen in relief—in such <em>desperate </em>relief—and he clicks off the television after a moment more of staring. Lyndsay can’t find anything to say, her mind running blank and her mouth slightly open as she stares at her son—<em>how could he have known?</em> How could he—her upstanding, good-natured son—know anything of terrorist movements when such a thing came out of left field for even the military? The Solar Wars have been a global issue for years, but they have been so isolated in Ireland—they have not seen any of the horrors that eastern Europe, or the Middle East, or northern Africa have been forced to face. She has known to count themselves lucky, but…</p><p>But they very nearly were drawn right into the conflict (<em>hundreds could have died, and we might have been among them)</em>, only saved by that guardian angel who forewarned the local military of the impending danger.</p><p>But this doesn’t—this doesn’t explain how Neil knew of this at all, because she has never known him to be interested in politics or history. He makes decent grades in the subjects at school, but he always makes a face when they turn on the news—has never made an effort to keep up with the war. But today, her son was so desperate to keep his family away from the site of the bombing, even before it happened—</p><p>Neil straightens up suddenly, and Lyndsay can hear Amy calling for them from the kitchen, but she finds that her legs can’t move—that she can only stare at the television with wide eyes, trying and failing to process what she just saw. “Mum,” Neil says quietly, hesitating before reaching out to grab her arm. “We’ve gotta eat dinner, yeah?”</p><p>Her brows furrow—because she knows this, she <em>knows</em> this, but how are they still alive to eat dinner, when they should have—by all rights—been at that mall today? “Mum,” Neil says, a little louder, his voice tinged in worry, and Lyndsay blinks a couple of times, focusing on her son’s face—which is awash with worry, though the tension that has been in his body all day has been alleviated somewhat.</p><p>Neil knew. He knew about the bombing—whether he somehow caught wind of it online, or overheard those—those KPSA members, somewhere…somehow, Neil knew what was going to happen. And he kept his family away from the mall to protect them—was so, <em>so </em>desperate to keep them all safe, even though they did not understand.</p><p>Lyndsay still does not understand. But she knows that Neil, somehow, saved all five of their lives today.</p><p>She stands slowly, and Neil smiles a bit, making to walk toward the kitchen—but she reaches out, suddenly, pulling him into a tight, grasping hug, doing her best to hold back her tears—to stifle her sobs.</p><p>Neil stiffens in her grasp but soon relaxes, returning the hug and patting her a bit awkwardly on the back. “We’re fine,” he says, very quietly, in a comforting tone Neil Dylandy should not know how to use. “Everyone’s fine, yeah?”</p><p>It’s true but still she does not understand <em>how. </em>Amy’s voice is growing more and more insistent from the other room, and she hears the door to the kitchen creak open—she looks up quickly, wiping at the wetness in her eyes. She’s relieved to see Owen and not one of the kids—but his face is still twisted in worry as he takes in the scene before him.</p><p><em>Later,</em> she mouths at him over Neil’s head (buried, now, deep in her shoulder) and the worry on his face increases, but Lyndsay finally forces herself to disentangle herself from her son, and after she wipes at her eyes for a moment longer, trying to look presentable, she follows her husband into the kitchen, pulling Neil by the hand.</p><hr/><p>A couple of hours later, Amy has finally come down from her birthday high—she’s sitting on the couch, a half-finished plate of cake on the coffee table before her, surrounded by the dozen presents she’s received from her parents and extended family. Her eyes are half-open as she attempts to follow the conversation between Lyle and Owen, and Lyndsay laughs at the look on her face.</p><p>“Hey, sleepy butt,” she says, nudging her and pleased to feel a little smile on her face. “Time for bed?”</p><p>“<em>No,</em>” she objects, but the almost dreamy quality of her voice gives her away. “It’s still my birthday, I’ve gotta…”</p><p>“We’re going to celebrate tomorrow, too, remember?” Lyndsay offers, her smile widening a bit at the petulant look on Amy’s face. “So you can go to bed, and when you wake up, it’ll still be your birthday!”</p><p>Amy seems to consider this before nodding slowly, her eyelids drooping further. “Go to bed,” Lyndsay says, pulling her into a hug—perhaps tighter than normal, but she thinks she can be excused, given the circumstances—and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Lyle’ll walk you up, he should go to bed soon too.”</p><p>“Just me?” Lyle demands, though he’s been slouching further and further in his armchair for the better part of an hour—but it doesn’t stop him from glaring mildly at his mother, glancing very pointedly to Neil.</p><p>“We need to have a little chat with your brother about his behavior earlier,” Lyndsay says, not harshly, but she hopes sternly enough to get the point across. “He’ll be up to bed soon enough.”</p><p>She glances to Neil and gets the very distinct impression he’s keeping himself from rolling his eyes. “All right,” Lyle mumbles, though he frowns a bit at his brother before walking over to Amy, all but hauling her to her feet in her sleepiness before the two of them walk upstairs.</p><p>Only when Lyndsay hears the door at the top of the stairs close does she finally turn to Neil. Owen, too, looks concerned; he still doesn’t have an explanation for the scene he witnessed earlier.</p><p>“Owen,” she says after a few moments where Neil seems to want to do nothing more than to stare a hole through the carpet, “there was some news on the TV, when we got home from the park.”</p><p>“Is that what you were doing in here?” he asks, glancing between the two of them with a crease in his brow. Neil nods, still not looking at either of them, and Lyndsay resigns herself to explaining it all—though she doesn’t understand it, herself.</p><p>“There was an attempted bombing in town this afternoon—at the local mall.”</p><p>Owen’s face drains quickly, his eyes widening and his body growing perfectly still. “Attempted?” he echoes rather desperately.</p><p>“The military got a tip this morning,” she explains. “They were able to stop it from happening, but…”</p><p>She trails off, because honestly, this is where her understanding of the situation ends, She feels at a bit of a loss, staring between her husband, the blank TV, and her son, who has not yet looked up at either of them. He’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Lyndsay, while Owen is in a nearby chair; his arms are crossed tightly across his chest, and his legs are stretched out as far as they will go in front of him—not too far, yet, but Lyndsay knows that if both boys continue to take after their father, they’ll shoot up in height, eventually.</p><p>Neil hasn’t said a word, hasn’t so much as looked at either of them since Lyle and Amy left—and Lyndsay shifts down the couch to sit directly next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders.</p><p>She doesn’t miss the flinch he tries very hard to hide, but she also does not pull away.</p><p>“I’m not angry,” she says after several more seconds of silence. “But Neil—how did you know there was going to be a bomb?”</p><p>He mumbles something, too quiet for her to hear; when she asks him to repeat himself, he still does not meet their eyes, but he says again, “I didn’t.”</p><p>“So why were you so desperate to keep us away from the mall today?” Owen asks, leaning forward a bit, his face open with a desire to understand. “You…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so scared. That wasn’t a normal teenager’s reaction to going to the mall, no matter how boring it would be.”</p><p>Neil swallows thickly, blinks a few times, and continues to stare at his socks.</p><p>Lyndsay grimaces, beginning to rub small circles into Neil’s shoulder—and while he tenses at first, the tightness in his muscles slowly starts to fade. “You have to know you’ve been acting strange, lately,” she says, hopes it won’t make him shut down—and presses on when he shows no signs of answering. “We just want to help—whatever’s going on…”</p><p>Neil snorts, and just as quickly ducks his head, hiding his face—but the posture shows more and more the despair and grief he’s been trying to hide for the past week. “Neil,” she says, a bit more sternly, instead pulling him gently against her side. He does not resist, but neither does he relax into her like she hoped he would. “We need to know what’s going on.”</p><p>“<em>I </em>don’t know what’s going on,” he mutters, his tone dark, and Lyndsay doesn’t think she’s ever heard him talk like that before. But it’s new information; her son is scared of—of whatever’s happening, and doesn’t understand, and so whatever it is…maybe they can figure it out together.</p><p>Owen says just that before she gets the chance, but Neil only shakes his head, snorting again without humor.</p><p>“It doesn’t make sense. I don’t—I don’t <em>get</em> it. I was dead and then—“</p><p>“<em>What?”</em> Lyndsay demands, her voice rising in pitch, but—</p><p>Neil blinks, as if in surprise, before curling in on himself further, pulling his feet in to the couch again. “Nothing,” he says quickly, dismissively, but Lyndsay shares an alarmed look with her husband, and she knows they can’t just let this slide.</p><p>“Why did you ask me if you were in heaven?” Owen asks slowly after a moment, his gaze piercing as he stares at his son. “When you were sick, last week. You weren’t making a lot of sense, but you asked me if this was heaven.”</p><p>Neil doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze sliding away from his parents as he only hugs himself all the tighter, trying to curl away from Lyndsay's grip. “Neil,” she tries, her voice lowering, trying not to overwhelm him. “Please, we need to know what’s going on.”</p><p>He looks scared, and overwhelmed—and, frankly, he looks more like he’s fourteen than he has in this past month. His eyes are sharp and flickering all around the room, as if trying to find an escape route; but his posture is more than vulnerable, and the brightness of his eyes, the frequent blinking and swallowing, show Lyndsay that, for the second time today, he’s dangerously close to tears.</p><p>“I haven’t seen you in eleven years,” he says, very quietly—so much so that Lyndsay isn’t sure she’s heard him correctly. “And then I get blown up, and then—and then I’m fourteen again, like nothing’s ever happened. Is that <em>normal</em>?”</p><p>Lyndsay's sure she must have misunderstood him—but a quick glance at Owen’s face shows that he heard the same. He's just as baffled by it as she is, and so she only adjusts her position on the couch, resuming her soft circles into his shoulder, and says, “I’m not sure I understand.”</p><p>Neil huffs a humorless laugh, pulling himself from her grip and leaning against the arm of the couch, still not looking at either of them. “I don’t either.”</p><p>“Why have you been acting so strangely?” Owen asks after a few moments of thick silence, leaning forward further in his chair and staring at Neil. Lyndsay can see his mind spinning with possibilities, trying to reconcile what Neil has just said with their knowledge of life and death. It’s all but impossible—because while he has mentioned his own death a couple of times, she is more than sure that her son has never been in a life-threatening situation. He’s—he’s only <em>fourteen,</em> for God’s sake - and has lived under their roof for his entire life; but—but he mentioned not seeing them for years, too, and this <em>isn’t making sense. </em></p><p>Neil huffs, looking more determinedly at his socks as he pulls his feet up onto the couch, between himself and Lyndsay. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he mumbles, but he sends a longing glance toward Lyndsay—and she realizes that he <em>wants </em>them to understand. And so even if she is confused and horrified and desperate to hear that everything is okay, her son comes first—and so she does not attempt to pull Neil close to her again, clasps her hands tightly in her lap.</p><p>“You don’t know that,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “We want to understand, Neil—maybe we can help.”</p><p>“You can’t,” he says again, quietly, but shakes his head, hugging himself a bit tighter as he glances up at them both quickly, one and the other before turning his attention back to his feet. “I still don’t think this is real.”</p><p>“Are you ill?” Owen asks slowly, concern lacing his tone and his face as he clearly keeps himself from leaning in closer, checking Neil’s temperature or heartbeat or complexion.</p><p>But their son huffs, shaking his head. “I’m fine…but that’s the problem,” he says, shaking his head as he continues, “I—I shouldn’t be. I <em>died,</em> but then…”</p><p>“What do you mean, you died?” Lyndsay blurts, trying and failing to keep the waver out of her voice.</p><p>He inhales, long and slow, and Lyndsay sees him glance up to her again—and the fear and grief in his eyes nearly breaks her. “I—it doesn’t make sense,” he says again. “But you have to believe me…”</p><p>He trails off, and Owen beats her to it—“Of course we will,” he says earnestly, reaching out after a moment of hesitation to put a warm hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Neil does not flinch, this time, but he takes another deep breath before saying, “I’m twenty-five years old. I was—I was caught in an explosion up in space, and I <em>died</em>—but then I woke up in my old bedroom last week, and—and it’s like nothing ever happened, and <em>you’re</em> here, and…”</p><p>He trails off, wiping at his eyes suddenly with the back of his wrist, and steals a glance up at Lyndsay’s face before looking down again. She—she’s not sure what her face looks like, at the moment, but that’s the least of her worries. Neil—he—</p><p>“You…” Owen starts uncertainly, and Lyndsay can see that his grip on Neil’s shoulder has tightened. “What, traveled back in time?”</p><p>Lyndsay likes to think of herself as a practical woman; time travel is best left for science fiction , because that’s the only place it’s ever existed. But—she believes that her son thinks he is telling the truth, even if he’s—he’s saying that he’s eleven years older than he should be. Even if he’s not the same son she knew a week ago, he is still her little boy, and she knows that face better than almost any other. He is desperate, and frightened, and stealing carefully guarded glances between the two of them as if expecting to be rebuked for lying and wasting their time.</p><p>No matter how impossible it is, she knows that Neil is not lying to them. She knows that, now, they need to figure out what’s happened and why.</p><p>Neil shrugs in answer to Owen’s question, reaching up to wipe quickly at his eyes again. “I dunno. I figured it was—the afterlife, or something, but then I saw a calendar, and…” He swallows thickly. “I guess it’s really 2297, huh?”</p><p>“It is,” Lyndsay says, rather numbly, because—because she has <em>so many </em>questions, but first is how and why Neil was in space, how and why he <em>died </em>in space. The Union’s and the HRL’s orbital elevators are scarcely finished, and the AEU’s is nowhere near complete; space travel can’t be normal, even in ten years’ time—</p><p>Her little boy, sitting before her with tears on his face, with his thick beautiful hair and his wide blue eyes, is destined to die in the prime of his life - out in the emptiness of space when he should be in school or marrying, raising a family - and she cannot understand why.</p><p>“What happened?” she manages to choke out, and Neil glances up at her again. “How did you—how did you die?”</p><p>He says nothing for a moment, thinking on what to say, and Lyndsay knows what comes out of his mouth is a lie even before he says it. “I was up in space on a transport ship, working - but there was—a mobile suit battle nearby, and one of the shots went stray, I think. I’m not really sure—we were trying to steer clear, but then—well.” He shrugs, not meeting either of their eyes. “Everything was on fire, and then I woke up here.”</p><p>It’s believable, if space transit is the norm in a decade’s time—but Lyndsay knows that her son is lying. Why he would lie about something like this, though, she can only guess. But—the mobile suits must be much more advanced from his time than they are now; even the newest models are rudimentary, confined to the surface of the earth, and only capable of flight for limited amounts of time. But if they have reached space—have begun these resource wars outside of this planet, then she realizes that humanity really hasn’t come so far, after all. Even if (and she sincerely hopes this is the case) the Solar Energy Wars are only a distant memory in Neil’s mind, the world is still fighting…everyone is still killing each other for no reason at all.</p><p>Which brings her mind right back to places she’d rather not think about, but she knows she needs answers—like, if Neil really has lived this once, then it would explain how he knew of the bombing before it happened, but that would mean—</p><p>“So you <em>did</em> know about the bombing,” she says, doing her best to keep accusation out of her tone, but her throat tightens at what, exactly, this means. “Because—because it actually happened, before?”</p><p>Neil blinks several times in rapid succession, hugs himself a little closer, and doesn’t meet either of their eyes.</p><p>Lyndsay shares a horrified glance with her husband, her mind reaching for the obvious conclusion though she desperately tries to deny it. “Neil,” Owen says, a little unsteadily, his grip visibly tightening on his son’s shoulder. “You have to tell us what happened.”</p><p>He really doesn’t—and Lyndsay half-wishes that she never turned the conversation in this direction at all. But she can see that Neil has been bottling this up, since he woke up in a too-young body, moments after—after <em>dying</em>.</p><p>Neil is silent for several moments longer, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his gaze flickering as he thinks. “The…last time,” he says, very quietly, and Lyndsay has to lean forward a bit in order to hear. “Amy wanted to go to the mall for her birthday, and so—so the four of us went. Lyle—he was being an ass, he skipped to hang out with his friends for the day. But…”</p><p>He swallows thickly again, and Lyndsay sees a couple of tears trickle down his face before he wipes them away. “We were there all morning, most of the afternoon—I was tired, I didn’t want to go to another store. So I—I went outside to get a hot dog, across the street.”</p><p>Lyndsay’s hands tighten into fists; she feels her stomach twist in upon itself and feels tears forming in her own eyes. She has seen grief on Neil’s face, this past week, but she has never seen such desperate, furious anguish as she does now. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t going to stay long,” he says, almost begs, as he looks up to her with wide, glassy eyes. “You told me to come right back, and I was <em>going</em> to, but the cashier—she was really pretty, and I wasted a couple of minutes flirting with her. But then when I went back to the mall, I was—I was walking in when…”</p><p>He swallows, looking away. Lyndsay knows exactly how to fill in the rest of the sentence—but she desperately tries to deny it even as the tears are falling faster down her son’s face. He's stopped trying to wipe them away, anymore. She can see him lean into Owen’s touch, almost unconsciously, and he buries his head in his trembling knees as he takes deep, steadying breaths, clearly trying to get a hold of himself.</p><p>But Lyndsay realizes that today, the last time, must have left such an emotional scar on him—it has been eleven years, and he still cannot speak of it without crying—cannot bring himself to explain it even though, here, the bombing never happened—</p><p><em>A thousand were in the blast radius, and hundreds would have died, </em>and Lyndsay is desperate to know what happened to her and Owen and Amy, though she thinks the despair radiating from her elder son gives her an unequivocal answer. Her son—who has always been strong, carefree, silly and often flippant—is trying to stay strong before his parents (<em>I haven’t seen you in eleven years)</em>, is ashamed of the sobs he’s barely holding in check. Owen’s face is chalk-white, as Lyndsay glances up to him, and she feels her own words unable to escape her throat. But she reaches over slowly, her hand trembling, to rest on Neil’s head. He flinches harshly at the contact, but she does not pull away; she cards her fingers through his hair slowly, trying to calm him—trying to tell him that things are all right, at least here and now, if not in his own head. She tries to tell him that the bomb never detonated, and that all five of them are here, whole and hale, in the house he’s known all his life…</p><p>She tries to convey all of this through her gentle touch, but she doesn’t think she succeeds—because the sobs only flow over into quiet gasps for air as Neil curls in on himself even tighter, his body trembling harshly under Lyndsay’s calming touch. “I’m sorry,” he gasps to his knees, not looking up at either of them, and through her horror Lyndsay feels a frown forming on her face as she shifts even closer to her son, moving to adjust his posture so that she can pull him into a hug.</p><p>“What could you possibly be sorry for?” she asks, very quietly, as Owen relinquishes his grip on Neil’s shoulder to allow her to pull him against her side. “You—were fourteen years old, Neil. Nobody could have asked you to stop a bombing—"</p><p>“You—you were <em>gone!</em> All of you!” he chokes, though he burrows himself into her side even closer, and Lyndsay feels her breath catch in her throat at the naked admission of their deaths. “It was Amy’s birthday, and she was—<em>you </em>were—“</p><p>He chokes off again, his sobs increasing in intensity, and Lyndsay tightens her grip. “We’re alive,” she says, reassurance strong in her voice despite the horror settling in her stomach. “We’re all alive—Amy is upstairs right this second, probably hugging that bear and playing the game Lyle bought her until we yell at her to go to sleep. Dad and I are here—Lyle is here. <em>You saved us,</em> Neil—everything’s all right, now.”</p><p>But he shakes his head violently, curling into his knees even closer. “I don’t—know what to do,” he says, his voice barely understandable. “I’ve never—I don’t—“</p><p>“You’re our son,” Owen says, his voice strong, and Neil stills at the noise. “Even if you’re—an adult, now, you’re still our son. We can figure this out, right?”</p><p>“I don’t even know what I need to figure out,” he whispers. “I’m—I’m a <em>kid </em>again—”</p><p>“We’re your parents,” Lyndsay says, gentle, and grips him tighter. “It’s our job to help you get through it, right? I know—you’re not used to having us around, but we’re not going anywhere, this time, I promise you.”</p><p>Neil breathes for several seconds, his breathing shaky against her ribs—then, he only burrows deeper into her side, the tears flowing faster as he grips at her shirt.</p><p>Lyndsay can only grip him back, and whisper promises and reassurances into his hair, and send a desperate, lost look to her husband—who looks just as scared as her.</p><p>But what she said is true—and even if Neil’s an adult, now, he’s still their son. And she’s sure, right now, that he needs their support more than ever.</p>
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